Never Alone
by SnowPrincessEiry
Summary: After being rushed from my happy life into protective services, I find myself in a large abandoned home. The worst part about my living arrangement? The eerie life-sized doll that seems to haunt me. What's the deal with the doll? What happened in this house? As each day passes, I feel more paranoid. I hear noises, things get moved. Why do I get the feeling I'm not alone here?
1. Story Breakdown

**Story Breakdown**

 **DISCLAIMER  
**

-I DO NOT own _The Boy_ , it's characters, or it's storyline. _The Boy_ was directed by William Brent Bell, and written by Stacey Daley.  
-I DO NOT own any of the music featured in my fanfictions. The lyrics/music belongs to their respected artists.

 **OWNERSHIP CLAIM**

-I DO own Veronica "Ronnie" Stone, her story, and her concept.  
-I DO own the cover images to my fanfictions; be them edits or drawings. Be respectful to my art and edits, and DO NOT steal them.

 **STORY INFORMATION**

-This story is different than my other _The Boy_ fanfiction,  At Your Service. Unlike my other story, Ronnie will be not replacing Greta, or playing the role of a nanny. Instead, she will be in a semi-common/semi-predictable situation, but I won't discuss that here. Also, this story will take place in 2016, not 2011.  
-Brahms will have even more of a yandere persona. More controlling, more obsessive/possessive, more violent, and more lustful. However, he will also have the bipolar like characteristic where he is sweet, charming, childlike innocent, and playful.  
- _ **Bold-italic**_ phrases will indicate Ronnie's thoughts or the thoughts of others while in their point of view. _Italic_ phrases will indicate a sound being made.  Underlined phrases will indicate the title of a movie, TV show, etc. When you see "..." it means that the point-of-view has shifted.  
-All of the music featured in this story will be credited up top in the author's notes. The song representing the story is "The Phantom of the Opera" by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford from the _The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway performance.

 **CHARACTER INFORMATION**

 **Name:** Veronica "Ronnie" Stone  
I prefer to be called "Ronnie". Why? Because a, Veronica will attract unwanted attention from a phantom of my past, and b, my tomboyish fashion help unwarranted attention from the opposite gender.  
 **Age:** 30  
 **Hair:** Deep Mahogany; Pixie Cut.  
 **Eyes:** Crystal Blue  
 **Gender:** Female  
 **Family...  
** **1:** Bianca Lupei - Mother, Deceased; Alex Lupei - Father  
Did you know that sometimes memories stay etched into your memory, even if you were an toddler? Well, when I was three years old, I watched my father murder my mother. Why? Because she was getting old. How a beautiful woman at the age of thirty-two be considered old is beyond me. It was a mystery until I was about seven. Every day from my fourth birthday, father would beat me. Why would someone beat a four year old? I'd cry or scream at him to stop his other abuse, the kind of a inappropriate manner. You can bet your asses that my past with him affects me, even to today. When I was eight, we were watching gypsies perform at the fair, and, when father lead me away to do what he wished, I was saved by the ring leader. He grabbed me and whisked me away.  
 **2:** Andre Dalca and Cosmina Dalca - Foster Parents; Eliza Bensley - Sister-Figure  
When Andre and Cosmina took me in, I finally saw what family was. However, because of the years of abuse, every time they would express physical affection, or even touch me, I'd flinch and start screaming. It took me years, and though I still struggle with my PTSD, I am able to deal with physical contact, albeit vaguely. We would be on the run constantly because the clan of gypsies would encounter issues from the authorities, no doubt because of father. When I turned nineteen, I knew it was time to leave. All of their lives had been put in danger time and time again, and it was my fault, regardless of how Andre and Cosmina would debate it. With their combined efforts, I was able to leave to America. It was hard making it there, the "Land of the Free" because I wasn't a legal citizen. I would tell fortunes, something gypsies were accustomed to, and when I wasn't doing that, I would sing or dance in the streets where I didn't need a permit and it was legal. After some time, I was hired at a place called "Cabana Mystica", which specialized in magic paraphernalia and fortune-telling. I gained a very good friend, almost like a sister, named Eliza Bensley, who is a very passionate person about magic and miracles, but is also a lesbian with a passion for equal rights. On my 25th birthday, we both received news that the manager of the store was retiring and left the popular business in our hands. However, as my citizenship was just approved, I couldn't be the owner, so I continued to work there as a simple employee. Just as things were settling and going right, things went wrong. I received a phone call from Interpol telling me that my foster parents were brutally attacked, wounds that lead to their deaths, because they refused to tell him where I was. Unfortunately, one of the gypsies, out of an act of fear, disclosed my home address. I was then brought into protective custody, my identity and whereabouts would be expunged from access - only Interpol, the FBI, and the CIA would have access to my information. They found me a place to reside, a remote mansion on the English countryside. The Heelsire mansion. I was too rushed by the authorities into protective custody to do any kind of research on the home - an OCD-like tendency I had when researching things like residences, schools, and/or work places. I left to catch my flight the next morning. I was going to be on my own, but at least I'd be safe. I hope...  
 **Personality:** Maternal/motherly, gentle, kind, slightly OCD-ish, awkward around strangers, anxious around abusive personalities, and a stickler for rules.  
 **Distinguishing Marks or Features:** I have scars on my wrists from my father, when he'd handcuff me to a chair or the bed, for either his sexual gratification, or to punish me. I also have internal scarring from when he'd sexually abuse me; not that they can be seen, they can only be talked about or learned about.


	2. The Heelshire Mansion

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
** -I DO NOT own The Boy, it's characters, or it's storyline. The Boy was directed by William Brent Bell, and written by Stacey Daley. I DO NOT own any of the music featured in my fanfictions. The lyrics/music belongs to their respected artists. I DO own Veronica "Ronnie" Stone, her story, and her concept. I DO own the cover images to my fanfictions; be them edits or drawings. Be respectful to my art and edits, and DO NOT steal them.  
- _ **Bold-italic**_ phrases will indicate Ronnie's thoughts or the thoughts of others while in their point of view. _Italic_ phrases will indicate a sound being made.  Underlined phrases will indicate the title of a movie, TV show, etc. When you see "..." it means that the point-of-view has shifted.  
-The song representing the story is "The Phantom of the Opera" by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford from the _The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway performance.  
-As stated previously, I am making Brahms more yandere-type, only more obsessive/possessive, violent, and aggressive. For those who don't know what yandere means: "[Yandere is] a character who fits the archetype of being genuinely kind, loving, or gentle, but can suddenly switch to being aggressive or deranged." - Wikipedia, "Yandere". Please note: I haven't written for a yandere-type personality before, other than Brahms in my At Your Service fanfiction, so if I mess up, please PM me, and I will try to correct it.  
-A big thank you to those who have added this to their favorite/follow list. I can't guarantee a constant upload for this story, as, unlike my other, this is purely written on instinct and as if to ask myself "what would I do in this situation", and, well, that isn't always easy to write even if you have the image in your head. So, please, I ask that you are patient, and I will do my best not to disappoint. Also, if any of you have any ideas/suggestions for the story or chapters, don't hesitate to PM me. I face with writer's block a lot, and any ideas/suggestions from my readers on plot would be greatly appreciated.

* * *

 **1.) The Heelshire Mansion  
** ***  
Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you, grows stronger yet. You'll give your love to me, for love is blind. The phantom of the opera is now your mastermind.  
***

"I hate this." I muttered beneath my breath as I glared out the window. I had to start my life over because I was placed under protective services, the only thing that didn't change, however, was the fact that I didn't have to change my name. Why was I placed into protective services? Well, my perversely psychotic father was hunting me down. Interpol in Romania found that my foster parents, Andre and Cosmina Dalca, had been brutally beaten in the attempt to submit to his will by giving him my whereabouts, but, as parents should, they protected me. Unfortunately, they succumbed to their injuries. As a safety precaution, Interpol arranged me to be relocated to an empty mansion in the English countryside. The only information they had on this place was that it was previously owned by a family, the Heelshires, but it's abandoned for years. Everything else was either unknown to them or 'need to know'. As for my name change, or the lack thereof, it was because of the place I was moving into, the Heelshire mansion; it was not only abandoned, but it was also remote - no wifi, no cell service. Upside: I can't be tracked down via electronic connection. Downside: I am completely isolated from the outside world. Interpol thought that was for the best, however, without human interaction, how the fuck am I to stay sane? I heaved a heavy sigh.

"I understand, Ms. Stone, but it's for the best." Interpol Officer Clyde assured. Officer Clyde was a probably in his late thirties. He had black slicked back hair, and the sides of his head were shaved. He wore a dark blue, almost black, suit with a black tie. He actually bared an uncanny resemblance to Edward Gluskin, aka 'The Groom', from Outlast: Whistleblower. We pulled into the driveway and he turned off the ignition. He stepped out of the car and opened the door. I stepped out of the vehicle and looked up at the mansion. _**It's definitely a mansion.**_ If I had to guess, it was Victorian, or even pre-Victorian, era. "This place is fully furnished and has had a bit of modern restoration that was actually wrapped up yesterday." I simply just nodded. I had nothing against Officer Clyde, or even Interpol, but the situation and, more importantly, my father. "I'm told that they insulated the place so you should be more warmer, brand new windows, some patch work - there was some damage to the main floor's living room wall was blown out with a massive gaping hole, and has obviously been cleaned and dusted." The Interpol officer lead me to the tall wooden doors and turned to me. "The fridge, cupboards, and pantry are stocked with anything you may need, food wise. Now, once a week you'll have groceries delivered to you by a local, Ethan." He handed me the keys. "This place is yours now, Ronnie. It is yours to do with it what you want." I glanced towards him. "You have my card?" I nodded. "Good."

"Thanks." I unlocked the door and entered, closing the door behind me. A heavy sigh left me. "Well, Ronnie, time to make lemonade from the lemons you were given." Let me tell you, what I had been given was not much. Yeah I had food, a place to live, several bedrooms to choose from, and privacy, but I was alone out here. I could be confronted by a psychopath and there were no neighbors I could go to for sanctuary. I kicked off my converse boots and examined the place I would call home. The floors had seen been redone, but I noted that they creaked the way old house floors do. I did, however, appreciate the antique lamps, and the clean up was marvelous. Everything was dusted and polished. As unhappy as I was about the ordeal, I couldn't fight the smile that formed on my lips. _**This is mine.**_ I didn't even need to look at the rest of the house, though I still would, to know I loved it. I loved history and this house was a piece of it, I only wished I would know the history of the family that once called it theirs. I walked through the main hallway, noting all items that left behind, and memorizing my way. Oh, I should mention that I have photogenic memory - I can remember most, if not everything, I read, see, or hear. If I went to school, I'd probably be named a genius or a prodigy, so, in a way, I'm glad I didn't have formal schooling. The first room I walked into was the living room Officer Clyde was talking about, I assume. The first thing to catch my eye? A painted portrait of a couple with a young boy on the back wall. _**Was this the family that abandoned this place?**_ The couple wore poker faces while the boy wore a smile. I tilted my head as my eyes were pulled to the boy. His smile seemed off, fake even. Though my mind ran rampant with questions, I shook my head. _**Some "patch" work, more like "cover up".**_ I sighed. "Ah well." I recalled Officer Clyde saying a local would drop by, and made a mental memo to ask him about this place and the family. I saw that there was a bookcase with books on it, a more modern phonograph - aka a record player, a grand piano, and a few cushioned chairs. I turned and left the room to venture on, however, I heard a _thud_ from the wall behind me. My back became stiff and my breathing hitched. I very slowly turned towards the wall holding the portrait. I waited for a few moments, and once there was no further noise, I breathed a heavy sigh. "It was nothing. Let it go." I turned back towards the doorway and walked out. The next door I explored was an entertainment room. Of course, the only form of entertainment was the pool table, but to each their own. From that room I entered into the kitchen. As Officer Clyde stated, every cupboard, the pantry, and the fridge were stocked with food. Being on my own, I won't go through this much food per week - half, maybe - but whatever. Should I have a visitor, as unlikely as that is, I could feed them. I exited the kitchen and made my way to the stairs. I stopped at the second floor, noticing that the wall was bland. _**Ah, so that's where that came from...**_ I nodded my head, noting that the not-so happy portrait once hung there. Obviously it was an assumption, but I, mean, come on. If I noticed anything from the family who once resided here, it was that they loved their decor. I pushed myself onward to the third, and final, floor. Since I hadn't seen any bedrooms, it was easy to assume that they slept on this floor. All of the doors were closed except one, the one in the middle of the hall, beside the first bedroom and parallel from another. I walked over to that room and automatically concluded it was the little boy's room. I mean, how could I not? The bed was small and there were antique toys around the room in various places. Against my better judgement, I walked in and towards the dresser with a stuffed bear on top of it. I had a soft spot for teddy bears. I picked it up and smiled. "You're so - "

"Cute." Spoke a male from behind me, a sly smirk lingering in his tone. I shrieked and nearly jumped out of my skin. I turned to face the man who leaned against the door frame. He had dirty blonde hair that fell to the nape of his neck, slicked back. He had brown eyes,watching me like some kind of predator. He wore a blue plaid button-up shirt, black slacks, and dark brown leather shoes. "You must be Ronnie, yeah?" His English accented voice wondered. I nodded vigorously as I tried to find my tongue. He scared me, OK? He pushed away from the doorway and came closer to me. He made me feel extremely uncomfortable with how close he got to me. "I'm Ethan." I regained my composure. _**Creep.**_ No matter how uncomfortable he made me, I wasn't going to let him see it. I held up my hands, keeping distance between us.

"Nice to meet you, but my kitchen is stocked, so why are you here?" I placed my hands on my hips and watched him carefully. His smirk grew.

"Just came to see the new girl in town." I rolled my eyes.

"Well, you saw her. Now, unless there's anything else you need, please leave." He raised his eyebrow at me in wonder, as if shocked that his charm, or lack thereof, had no affect on me.

"Is that how you treat all your guests?" I narrowed my eyes at the hovering man standing mere inches from me. He was easily a foot taller than me.

"No, I treat men with no class that way." I stated bitterly. He shrugged his shoulder and turned to leave. I heaved a heavy sigh. "Ethan. Wait..." I could hear him grin. He turned his head, a grin, as if to mock me, plastered on his face.

"Yes?" I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"Would you... Like to stay for a cup of coffee?" His grin stretched.

"Why, that would be lovely, Ronnie." The tone in his voice really creeped me out. As soon as his head was turned forward, a shiver clawed at my spine. _**Don't worry, Ronnie, after today, you'll only have to deal with him once a week, when he drops off the groceries.**_ I mentally assured myself. However, I hugged my arms to try and rid myself of the goosebumps that had been risen, but failed, so I hid them in my sleeves. Once we reached the bottom of the stairs, we made our way into the kitchen. I walked over to the coffee machine and set it up to brew. "So, why the change of heart?" I turned and faced him, leaning against the counter. "Did you realize you had disresp - "

"My moving agents didn't tell me much about this place, other than the work that had gone into restoring it, and how remote it was. I was thinking that you, as the only other person I'll have contact with, and being a local, would be able to tell me about the home." I spoke honestly, interrupting him.

"Ah..." He nodded, his grin dropping. "I see." A heavy sigh left his lips. "Very well, what would you like to know?"

"Well, anything you can tell me, really." I shrugged. The coffee machine beeped and I turned to pour us a cup each. I grabbed a couple spoons, the sugar, and then made my way to the fridge to pull out two coffee creamers; one being regular, the other being the coffee creamer I had requested them put in there.

"The family, I assume?" I nodded. "They were the Heelshires, they lived here up until about five years ago." I leaned against the island. I gave him my complete attention. "The son's name was Brahms. Poor lad died, he was eight years old, when there was a fire here back in 91." I gripped the cup knowing that I would have dropped it otherwise. _**That's why they left... They lost their son and couldn't bare to stay any longer.**_ "However, rumor has it the kid was downright odd." I raised my eyebrow.

"Where'd the parents go to?"

"The bottom of the lake." My heart skipped a beat. "When their bodies were recovered, there pockets were filled with rocks." _**They couldn't handle the loss... But why twenty years later?**_ "That's about all I can tell you." The room was filled with a heavy air of silence. It was crushing, even. "Anyway." My eyes landed on Ethan. "I should get going. Since my brother left, I gotta run the shop." He put the empty cup down. "I do hope the truth won't keep you from sleeping." His smirk had returned. "Until we meet again, Ronnie." He winked and then disappeared around the corridor corner. As soon as the front doors closed, there was silence. Dark night skies is all I could see out the window. I was alone in this spacious house. My chest became heavy. _**It's just a mansion.**_ I mentally assured. Yeah, an old, abandoned mansion with a tragic history. I brought my cup of coffee back to the main hallway with me and grabbed my luggage, stopping to notice that my converse boots were missing. I glared towards the door, thinking that Ethan had moved it to get a rise out of me - he did, after all, trespass and give me a headache - and decided to continue on, and haul my luggage to the third floor. I figured the room adjacent to Brahms' had been Mr and Mrs Heelshire's room, seeing as it would be easy access to get to their son if he needed them. I pulled my luggage onward with the intent to see the third room, presumably the guest room. I pushed open the door and found a lovely room with a queen-sized bed with plush looking blankets. It wasn't the most decorated room, but, then again, I wasn't the gaudy type of girl. I flopped on the bed, not caring about the door being open. After everything that happened, and the long travel, I needed sleep. My eyes fluttered closed and I allowed myself drift into slumber.

...

There was now silence in the house. Where had Ronnie gone? Ronnie was the female who was going to live here now. With me. Apparently, she was placed into protective services. But why? I shook my head. I pushed out from behind the hole, covered by my family portrait, and made my way around the house, while attempting to be as quiet a I could. I would soon come across the bedroom Greta had stayed in a few years ago. She was fast asleep, I could tell my the gentle rising and falling of her chest. I approached the bed, stepping lightly, being careful I didn't wake her. I wanted a better look and couldn't resist. Slowly, and carefully, I climbed onto her bed. I hung over top of her body and examined her in a way I couldn't earlier. Her skin was pale with no blemishes as far as I could see. Her lips were pale pink in color, having a bit of shine to them from her coffee no doubt. I'd only wished I could see her eyes, up close and personal. But, I'll take what I have right now, for the time being. I tilted my neck so I could get closer to her, and took a long breath in. She smelled sweet, like peaches and vanilla. A shiver claimed my body. I held myself up on my right arm as my left hand found the edge of her right side of her face. Without a second to think it over, my hand cupped her right side jaw, and my thumb caressed her lips. _**Just as I thought.**_ I knew her lips were soft, but I didn't imagine they'd be THIS soft. Her skin in general was soft. My breathing had changed, instead of my normal breaths, they became shallow. It got worse when my hand, and eyes, began to move down. I had a strange knotting feeling in my stomach, but it didn't hurt; it just felt odd. My face felt hot, even more so when my breath would bounce off the inside of the mask. What could possibly make me feel more strange? The feeling in my pants; they felt tight, just as they had when Greta had given me that kiss goodnight. I wished I knew how to get rid of this feeling, this desire, for Ronnie. My hand traced her neck and at her collar. My hand shook. A part of me wanted to continue, but I was scared. What was happening to my body? What if she wakes up? I heard her mutter and she began to move beneath me. I shoved myself off her bed and hid behind the door, my body trembling and my hands shaking. I held my breath as I watched as she turned onto her side, and curled up. I tilted my head in wonder. _**Is she cold?**_ Before any further thoughts could sound off in my head, a sound I didn't expect left her lips. A whimper. I glared so I could see better. She was crying... The discomfort caused by my body left me as I slid out from behind the door. "I'm so sorry..." She sobbed as she clutched the sheets. I knelt down beside the bed, causing my joints to make a _crack_ ing sound. I reached out and touched her face. I began to hum Brahms' Lullaby, a melody hammered into my head a long time ago.

"Please don't cry, Ronnie..." My voice cracked as I attempted to sound the way I had before, the boy I remember being, something I hadn't done in years. "It will be OK." I began to run my fingers through her hair and continued to hum. Slowly, her sniffles and sobs ended, and she seemed at peace. In her sleep, she reached up and grabbed my hand, causing me to jump, and began to rub it. The discomfort returned, but I dared not move. I focused on her causing the discomfort to fade. As much as I wanted to stay, I need sleep. I pulled away and retreated into the corridors hidden in the walls, making my way to my keep. As I closed my eyes, I thought about the events that transpired just moments ago. I had came to a conclusion: _**She will stay here.**_ Even if that meant I had to use force.


	3. Meeting Brahms

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**  
-I DO NOT own _The Boy_ , it's characters, or it's storyline. _The Boy_ was directed by William Brent Bell, and written by Stacey Daley. I DO NOT own any of the music featured in my fanfictions. The lyrics/music belongs to their respected artists. I DO own Veronica "Ronnie" Stone, her story, and her concept. I DO own the cover images to my fanfictions; be them edits or drawings. Be respectful to my art and edits, and DO NOT steal them.  
- _ **Bold-italic**_ phrases will indicate Ronnie's thoughts or the thoughts of others while in their point of view. _Italic_ phrases will indicate a sound being made.  Underlined phrases will indicate the title of a movie, TV show, etc. When you see "..." it means that the point-of-view has shifted.  
-The song representing the story is "The Phantom of the Opera" by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford from the _The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway performance. The song Ronnie sings is "Just Like Fire" by P!NK for the _Alice Through the Looking Glass_ soundtrack.  
-As stated previously, I am making Brahms more yandere-type, only more obsessive/possessive, violent, and aggressive. For those who don't know what yandere means: "[Yandere is] a character who fits the archetype of being genuinely kind, loving, or gentle, but can suddenly switch to being aggressive or deranged." - Wikipedia, "Yandere". Please note: I haven't written for a yandere-type personality before, other than Brahms in my At Your Service fanfiction, so if I mess up, please PM me, and I will try to correct it.  
-I know things got a little steamy in Brahms' point of view towards the end of the last chapter, but let's not forget that Brahms is a child who never went through learning about puberty or how to handle hormones. I mean, realistically, do any of us know how to control hormones? However, Brahms' was more curious when he was feeling her up - erm, down - and stopped because of how frightened/uneasy he felt, and how it affected him. Intimacy is new to him, after all, and it's human to be afraid of something you don't know/understand.  
-A **big** thank you to all of who has added this to their favorite/follow list and who have read it. I can't guarantee a constant upload for this story, as, unlike my other, this is purely written on instinct and as if to ask myself "what would I do in this situation", and, well, that isn't always easy to write even if you have the image in your head. So, please, I ask that you are patient, and I will do my best not to disappoint. Also, if any of you have any ideas/suggestions for the story or chapters, don't hesitate to PM me. I face with writers block a lot, and any ideas/suggestions from my readers on plot would be greatly appreciated.

* * *

 **2.) Meeting Brahms** _  
_***  
Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you, grows stronger yet. You'll give your love to me, for love is blind. The phantom of the opera is now your mastermind.  
*** _  
_

I woke up to the sun's rays hitting my face. I released a hiss and went to roll on to my stomach, only to roll off the bed and hit the floor with a loud _thud_. "Owie..." I muttered with a pout. I took a couple minutes before I pushed myself off the ground. I decided I would have a shower before anything else. I grabbed shampoo and conditioner, phone, a plastic bag, and walked to my bathroom. **_Shit._** I mentally cursed. I was hoping my bathroom had a shower, but unfortunately that wasn't the case; it did have a bath tub, but I needed something quick before I could get to unpacking and such. With a heavy sigh, I left my room in search of the linen closets, opening miscellaneous closets as I did so, and found it inside the late Mr and Mrs Heelshire's room. I shyly wandered over to the bathroom and found the shower was there. _**Thank god.**_ With a heavy sigh, I hung the towel over the unique towel rack. I put my phone in the plastic bag, hanging it over the shower head and turned up the full volume. I ran the water, fiddling with the knobs to adjust the temperature to my liking. I backed up and began to undress. Once completely exposed, I walked into the shower and pulled the curtain around. I reached up and pushed play and caught a familiar beat. A recent favorite. I smiled as the water hit my face before turning around to soak my hair. "I know that I'm running out of time; I want it all, mmm, mmm. And I'm wishing they'd stop tryna turn me off; I want it on, mmm, mmm. And I'm walking on a wire, trying to go higher; feels like I'm surrounded by clowns and liars. Even when I give it all away; I want it all, mmm, mmm. We came here to run it, run it, run it. We came here to run it, run it, run it." I grabbed my shampoo bottle and poured a couple tablespoons into my palm. I rubbed my hands together and ran my fingers through my hair, shampooing my hair. "Just like fire, burning up the way. If I can light the world up for just one day; watch this madness, colorful charade. No one can be just like me any way. Just like magic, I'll be flying free; I'mma disappear when they come for me. I kick that ceiling, what you gonna say? No one can be just like me any way. Just like fire, uh." I rinsed my hair clean of the shampoo and reached for the conditioner. "And people like to laugh at you cause they are all the same, mmm, mmm. See I would rather we just go a different way than play the game mm, mm. And no matter the weather, we can do it better; you and me together, forever and ever. We don't have to worry bout' a thing, bout' a thing. We came here to run it, run it, run it. We came here to run it, run it, run it." I squirt conditioner into my palm and then applied it to my hair. "Just like fire, burning up the way. If I can light the world up for just one day; watch this madness, colorful charade. No one can be just like me any way. Just like magic, I'll be flying free; I'mma disappear when they come for me. I kick that ceiling, what you gonna say? No one can be just like me any way. Just like fire, fire, fire. Run it, run it, run it. We came here to run it, run it, run it." I grabbed my soap and began to rub it between my hands, bubbling it up, and began to soap my body. "So look I came here to run it, just cause nobody's done it. Y'all don't think I can run it, but look, I've been here, I've done it. Impossible? Please. Watch, I do it with ease. You just gotta believe. Come on, come on with me." Once I rubbed the soap into each crevice, I just stood there and took a moment to enjoy the water against my skin. I needed this. "Oh, what's a girl to do? What, what? Hey, what's a girl to do? What, what? Oh, what's a girl to do? What, what? Oh, what's a girl to do?" I scooped water and rinsed my body. ""Just like fire, burning up the way. If I can light the world up for just one day; watch this madness, colorful charade. No one can be just like me any way. Just like magic, I'll be flying free; I'mma disappear when they come for me. I kick that ceiling, what you gonna say? No one can be just like me any way. Just like fire, burning up the way. If I can light the world up for just one day; watch this madness, colorful charade. No one can be just like me any way. Just like magic, I'll be flying free; I'mma disappear when they come for me. I kick that ceiling, what you gonna say? No one can be just like me any way. Just like fire, fire." I leaned my head back and allowed the water to clear the conditioner from my hair. "Running, running, running. Just like fire. Run it, run it, run it." Once the song ended I pulled back the curtain. _**God, I needed that.**_ I stepped out of the shower and walked over to grab my towel, stopping in my tracks because I had seen something in my peripheral vision. I turned my head and felt my blood run cold. There, on the bed belonging to the Heelshire couple, was a porcelain doll with his face looking in my direction. It looked like a doll version of Brahms. What added to the creepy factor was the cracks in his face; it looked like his face had been broken and then tediously, but also masterfully, glued back together again. I wanted to scream, but I just stood there. Beside him rested a clipboard, a piece of paper with writing was clipped. Now, I don't have 20/20 vision, so I can't read what it says - word for word - all I know is that it looked like a set of rules, with the single sentence and spacing. A shiver clawed at my spine. _**It's just Ethan.**_ I tried to reason. _**The guy somehow came into the house yesterday... And I, being the derp I am, forgot to lock up.**_ I began to hyperventilate. _**I mean, the creep just wants a rise out of me for his sick sense of humor.**_ Regardless of how rational my thoughts were, I continued to panic. _**Fuck this supernatural shit!**_ I wasn't about that life, guys. When I was nine years old, I had a paranormal experience with a porcelain doll that nearly ended my life, so forgive me for being a panicked mess. I made a quick dash into my room and slammed the door, locking it behind me. I rushed towards the phone and tried to call Officer Clyde's number, the only number I could collect in my anxiety-driven mind, only to find no dial tone. "No, no, no, no." I slammed the phone down and tried to calm myself, but I was failing. Miserably. I was hyperventilating, my pulse was through the roof, I began to itch my stress-induced hives. The phone rang. I picked up the phone and answered with a anxious "Hello?" There were seconds of silence. "Hello?!" I called again.

"Ronnie?" Came a child's voice. I dropped the phone before backing away from it. This couldn't be happening. Not again. The phone rang again. I picked it up.

"Who is this?!" I breathed anxiously. I was desperate to hear a familiar voice. Unfortunately, it was one I wasn't hoping to hear a second time.

"Please come out." The boy's voice asked innocently. "Come play with me, Ronnie. Ronnie?"

"What do you want from me?" I sobbed into the phone, more to myself than the boy on the other end.

"You must follow the rules." The boy's facade cracked, a sense of force behind his words.

"No..." I whimpered as I slammed the phone onto the base. I stepped away from the phone, stopping the moment I heard footsteps in the hallway as they approached my door. My blood run cold. There were three _knock_ s at my bedroom door. "Why are you doing this to me?!" I cried. Once again there was a _knock_ ing pattern of three. I fell to the floor. Another set of _knock_ s echoed from the door. I watched as the shadow of the feet walked out of sight, and heard humming as it did so. _**What do I do?**_


End file.
